


Sunny Date

by lobsterkaijin



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Come Inflation, Creampie, F/M, Miles is Bisexual, Public Humiliation, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobsterkaijin/pseuds/lobsterkaijin
Summary: Miles Upshur is a lot of things, but is especially thorough. If he’s gonna make you come, he’s gonna make you come at least three times, just for good measure.





	Sunny Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queen_of_shanath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_shanath/gifts).



> shameless (late) birthday porn for a good friend who i discovered has many similar tastes to me. happy birthday tani, hope you really enjoy all the birthday cake you're gonna be having ;3c

He wakes you up with gentle kiss on your temple and hands you a tray, a complete English breakfast fit for a queen served on ornate porcelain given to you by his mother as a gift for your third anniversary. Miles may not know how to make Kraft mac n’ cheese without setting the kitchen on fire, and he may struggle a little more than you think is normal with a simple cajun chicken recipe (needless to say he’s not allowed around raw meat anymore), but when it comes to the works  — fried eggs sunny side up, crispy applewood bacon, baked beans in tomato sauce, and some fried mushrooms and tomatoes on the side  — you think you might actually thank a deity or two for the blessing you’ve been given. His breakfasts are the best you’ve ever had, even better than that cozy little place you two found while stuck during a freak snowstorm in April,  _ and you make sure you let him know all the time how good their food was.  _ Yeah, better than that? It’s unreal. 

 

Once you’re propped up on some recently fluffed pillows, he situates himself across from you, cross-legged and donning a mischievous smile.

 

_ Oh no.  _ “What’s that look for?” you ask between mouthfuls of beans.

 

“Nothin’. Just admiring your face.”

 

Suspicious. Not that he never compliments you, but Miles is blunt, pulls no punches. You don’t think he’s ever beaten around the bush. Nah, he ploughs straight through it. So what could he be up to? “Oh, okay... It wouldn’t have anything to do with it being my  _ birthday _ today, would it?” He shrugs his shoulders, which almost convinces you he’s genuine, until you see the way his eyes shift to and fro. “You don’t know how to be subtle.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, love.” He leans forward to kiss your nose. “Finish your breakfast, and then I can give you your gift.” Maybe you’d trust his intentions a little more if not for the way those last words are  _ purred _ out of his mouth. When Miles gets like this, it never ends well for you, so the last few bites are taken slowly, chewed in apprehension. When the plate is empty, Miles takes it from your lap and sets it on the nightstand beside you. You think that’s the end of that, an empty threat, but then he’s on you faster than you can register it.

 

“Mi—” His lips steal the breath with which you were speaking his name, and it all goes downhill from there as his hands make their way under your shirt. A thought forms in your mind, ( _ how is this gift any different from the usual kind? _ ) until his tongue is in your mouth and you can’t think of anything but the jolt of pleasure in your chest as he toys around with a nipple. The other hand offers no reprieve, squeezing and massaging you, alternating hard and soft caresses, confusing sensations drawing gasps from your lips. Only a second to relax. Giving your mouth a break, one true mercy. You try to get a word in but he’s not gonna let you. His hands switch jobs and it begins again.

 

This goes on for some time. It eventually leaves you a little less breathless, gives you a bit of time to relax into his ministrations and kisses. Is this all he’s gonna do to you for now? Well that’s not so bad. You can handle some under the shirt fondling and, as he would call it in his smarmy London accent, full-frontal snogging. Though it’s a little gentler than you’re used to coming from Miles… like this is movie night level of intimacy. Which sets you on edge all over again, because Miles certainly isn’t  _ gentle _ . Scheming and sly, yeah, that’s more like it. He can’t have had that look in his eyes for some simple groping.

 

Right on queue, he’s flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips flush against him. This is when you realize how  _ royally fucked _ you really are as your nightshirt hikes up your back. “Have I mentioned I  _ love _ when you wear my shirts to bed, love?” Yes, this is the reason for the aforementioned  _ royal fuckery. _ His voice is low in your ear, a growl that goes straight to your crotch. Scrambling to get your undies down to your knees, he’s grinding his clothed dick right up against you and  _ oh God oh God it’s pressed up so close, just ram me already please Miles get those boxers off already _ ! Shit, the hardness is making your toes tingle. “Easy access, like you’re  _ asking _ for it.”  _ Oh fucking hell.  _ You’re writhing in his grasp but there’s nothing you can do at this point, not with how steady he’s holding you, not with how hot his breath is, sending shivers down your back.

 

“Miles, w — ”  _ Wait,  _ you wanted to say, before you were cut off by a quiet clicking sound and his cold finger plunging halfway into you, and then the only sound that comes out is a drawn out keening. He curls the digit up and down, exploring the heat, making pleased noises at the slick entrance he’s been granted. It doesn’t take much more effort to get the whole finger in, especially with how he’s resumed his fondling, having a picnic now that the fabric has risen up enough to have you bare from the chest down.

 

“Didn’t quite catch that,” he says, nibbling along your ear and adding a second finger. “What? You  _ want more _ ? Mm, nasty.”  _ Bastard.  _ If he weren’t so good at prodding right up to where you want him to be, you’d have a lot more to say than this unintelligible nonsense. Just when you think you’ve managed to come up with something clever to retort back with, he’s biting your shoulder hard enough to earn a loud moan. Everything after that is devolved, half-finished syllables of words neither of you will ever understand, and when he’s using a third finger to really stretch you open, you’re not sure you’re even speaking the same language anymore. The only thing still making sense to you is how much you want him, and you make that very clear with how hard you thrust your hips back to meet his fingers. 

 

They adjust to meet your rhythm, pounding in and out, all the way to the knuckle then back out and in again. When they angle downwards towards your belly is when all form of civility goes out the window. Heat,  _ God, as if there isn’t enough heat already,  _ heat churns in your stomach as he adds his (half) fourth finger, though ‘adding’ isn’t really the right way to describe it when he’s hitting you in the right place every time and there’s nowhere you can go to escape it. “Ugh, babe… your pretty little noises drive me insane.” You can barely understand anything he’s saying save for when he’s moaning in your ear and drawing the most obscene wet noises from down below. And then he spreads his fingers apart and drives you over the edge, drowning,  _ drowning _ in thoughts of  _ Miles, Miles, Miles! _

 

“You’re a mess,” said while dragging his fingers along your back and inner thighs, leaving sticky trails wherever they touch. The low laughter in your ear has your entrance twitching. “Done so soon?”  _ Oh fuck you,  _ you want to reply. Instead his words are met with a groan into the crook of your elbow because that’s exactly what he wants. “I don’t  _ think _ so.” Of course not. Miles is a lot of things, but is especially  _ thorough _ . If he’s gonna make you come, he’s gonna make you come  _ at least _ three times, just for good measure.

 

You know what’s coming next (spoiler alert: it’s probably still you). Lining himself, a simple kiss between your shoulder blades is all the warning you get before his hands are snapping your hips back against him, and now you’ve found a new reason to be crying out. Miles isn’t just  _ big _ . Big is how you describe the Eiffel Tower. Now if the comparison were to the Burj Khalifa… “Oh, fu—ck, fuck! Miles, fuck!”

 

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to do, love,” he shoots back, earning himself a half-hearted punch to the side. “Wow, unbelievable! So rude!” He’s laughing again, against your shoulder, and somehow you suspect he  _ must _ know what his laugh does to you, because he’s stuttering out something about you getting tighter around him and threatening to punish you if he comes too early.

 

He picks up the pace, grunting in the effort as he smacks against you, deeper, deeper, but not deep enough,  _ fuck why can’t he go any deeper _ ? Along your bottom lip his fingers play, the ones he used to finger you open. Whether it’s out of curiosity on the taste or wanting to drive him up the wall  _ (‘cause he deserves it) _ , you slip your tongue around them, tug them in and get to sucking. From behind you he curses, presses the fingers flat against your tongue and massages along the muscle until they’re nice and coated, dripping wet. “Dirty girl,” words struggling to make it past his heavy panting and groaning. “Gonna… hhn, gonna regret that.” If you were a little more naive you’d respond with doubt, but as soon as those wet digits reach down to start teasing your clit, you’re reminded once again of how dedicated Miles is to making good on his promises.

 

“Babe, hhn f-fuck... babe I’m gonna fill you up so much.” Shit,  _ shit.. He’s close.  _ He’s so close, pounding into you with reckless abandon.  _ God, he sounds so good when he’s like this.  _ Lifting you flush against him, he’s angling you so he’s hitting all the way up where you want him to, all the way up in your belly,  _ in your belly!  _ Now you can  _ watch _ him as he tears you apart on the inside, in and out, in and out, deeper and deeper until your vision is lost to a black sky full of stars, oh  _ fuck!  _ “You like that? Yeah?” Your only response is a string of  _ yes’  _ and  _ oh Gods  _ and begging for him to ruin you already. Chuckling into your ear, with hands digging deep enough into your hips to leave bruises, he slams you down against him, no discernible rhythm to it anymore. At this point he’s just thrusting into you to keep up the heat.

 

“Miles,  _ Miles— _ ”

 

“I got you, I got you, love,” he says right before your vision is exploding in bright fireworks and your insides are being filled to completion with his seed. 

 

The following moments slow until the heat has died down to an ember. He’s gentle now, pulling out gingerly and groaning in disdain at the cold that hits his bare lap. When you lay down against the mountain of pillows he decided your bed must have, the impish smirk from before returns to his face, and with it comes that same apprehension. You’re careful when you ask, “What’cha thinking about, Miles?”

 

“Your  _ gift _ . Did you think that was it?”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

Instead of answering your confusion, he’s leaning over the side of the bed and pulling out a decorated box. “Close your eyes.”

 

“Bu—”

 

“Shut tight!” You’re grumbling about him being oddly domineering for a guy who just orgasmed, but you do it anyways because you  _ love _ him.  _ He better damn appreciate th— _

 

“Oh  _ what the hell! _ ” He’s inserting something pink and thick and studded in between your legs, all the way to the tapered hilt, from which a wire extends so that he can wrap it around your thigh. A little hum escapes him while he tinkers around with the settings. The more he hums, the more nervous you become, and the more nervous you become, the more cat-like his grin. He’s meticulous in making sure the whole setup is exactly the way he wants it, until he’s leaning back on his heels and examining his work with an exaggerated thinking expression, before finally he’s giving you a thumbs up as a green light for any clarifications.

 

“What is this?”

 

“A remote-controlled vibrator, duh.”

 

“You didn’t even clean me up, Miles.” To illustrate this, you sit up and trace a light finger over the small bulge in your midsection. “I’m still all full from you...”

 

“That’s the point, love, to keep you all full  _ for the rest of the day. _ ”

 

You blanche. “‘Scuse me for being a bit slow, ‘cause well, you know,  _ just got fucked silly _ , but um, can you actually explain what you’re going on about?”

 

He leans in close, brandishing a shiny and easily concealed remote in his hand. “Starting  _ now _ , at precisely 11:32am,” one flick of his thumb has you reeling with the jarring explosion of sensation in your still too-tender nether regions, “you’re gonna spend the next twelve hours like that, plugged up and full of my come.”

 

If you were the emotional type, you might actually start to cry… okay, maybe that sniffling is coming from you. He must think he’s crossed a line or something, because he’s reaching over with concern on his face, rubbing at your shoulders. “H-Hey, if that’s not something you’re into, we don’t have t—”

 

“You really do love me!” You throw yourself onto him, planting big fat smooches all over his face. Surprised is an understatement, though whatever emotion was there is replaced by the relief smoothing out his features into its usual cool demeanor.

 

“I can name at least ten other times where I’ve proven my undying love for you,” he remarks with a pout.

 

“Babe, oh baby no, that’s not what I m— mm _ aah! _ Fuck,  _ Miles _ ! You asshole!”

 

You’re met with a toothy grin. “Me? An  _ asshole?  _ You’ve got the wrong bloke! I’m a  _ proper _ Englishman,” punctuated by him ramping up the vibrator from what you see is a three to a five. “I give my lady everything she deserves.” And then a six, which has your lower half set on fire and your mind growing number by the second. The short burst is just that  _ thank God _ , and he’s turned it back down to a more reasonable one, and when you’ve wiped the drool from your mouth, back down to a zero. “Now time to get out of bed before you turn into a potato.”

 

If there’s any reason why you’d be turning into a potato, it’s because he’s emphasizing his point by switching the goddamn vibrator up and down like a child discovering a new hobby, making you numb from pleasure. It’s been, what, five minutes? And already you’re wondering if his goal is to eventually make you into his own mindless, pliant doll.

 

Well it turns out that conclusion had been closer to the truth than intended. Miles powers through two articles made for some site or another on his computer in the kitchen, and while he’s sitting at the table mulling about as nonchalantly as possible, he’s orchestrating your eventual transformation into a root vegetable. When you’re folding clothes and it just so happens his boxer shorts happen to be in your hands, there it goes, like he  _ knows _ when you’re reminiscing on the last fun time you two had with this specific pair. Searching around the house for your car keys (which you swear you put on the hook like always), and off to Cumland you go, train of thought torn from your head as your hands and knees struggle to keep you upright against the wall while you hurl a bunch of curses at the cause of all your troubles. Doing your own work proves literally impossible when you’re focused on writing a letter to your editor, and then the only words you can manage are, well, not really words at all, just key smashed gibberish and then  _ FUCK _ written over and over, which is the only discernible thing in the whole paragraph (though this is a coincidence.) His maniacal laughter is going to be haunting your dreams for weeks.

 

You  _ think _ you’re in the clear when you leave the apartment to go pick up mail from the post office, some package your parents sent over promising it was a seasonal “must-have.” (Knowing your parents however, it’s probably a ceramic turtle wearing a scarf.) It’d been a full forty-five minutes. Radio silence. Peace in your loins. Maybe there really is a God. The package, having surprised you with its weight, was being held up by sheer force of will. This is a pretty big turtle, mom and dad, why would you do this? 

 

And then, that is  _ the _ moment Miles fucking Upshur decides he’s gotten bored and wants to play games again. You should’ve learned by now, you poor, naive fool. Rest in peaces, scarf turtle, you died so that your owner’s boyfriend could embarrass her by having her stumbling to the ground, clutching her sides, and biting her lip so hard it bleeds, just so no one would catch a stray moan or see her hand grasping at the suddenly too-tight crotch of her pants. The phone call that follows is a loud one, cussing and begging and heated moaning. Bastard didn’t even have the decency to get you off to some phone sex, just hung up when it was getting good.

 

The rule is  _ no slamming doors in this household,  _ but that rule did not accommodate for situations like this, where your boyfriend would be torturing you, drawing the most brutal agony from your lips as you do innocuous things like  _ living your life,  _ so maybe that rule can eat a dick. Besides, you deserve a little bit of door slamming for all you’ve been through today. As soon as you’re through the door (which you made a point of slamming behind you when you spot said dickish boyfriend stick his head out from the kitchen), he’s sauntering out, bouquet of roses in hand. Oh  _ no, _ no no no, you are not falling for that one, you are  _ not—  _ “Mm, babe, I’ve missed you.”  _ Goddamnit, _ how can you resist him when he’s wrapping you up tight in his arms and kissing you like he needs your lips to breathe?

 

“Miles,  _ Miles _ you aren’t getting off that easy.”

 

He’s smiling into the kiss now. “Oh? And why is that?” Picking you up with ease, he has you wrapping your legs around his hips, and is pressing you against the wall to cut off easy escape. You’re sure you give him a look that says  _ you know why,  _ though it doesn’t phase him one bit, not when he’s fiddling with his remote and melting you into a useless puddle in his arms. “You think this is  _ easy _ for me? You think it’s easy seeing you like this and not getting to—” He bites his lip to keep from saying it, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t hearing the words. You’re hearing him loud and clear when he’s mouthing at the crook of your shoulder, even more so when his hips thrust against you and a whine is strained out. You’re ready to lose it when he makes a content noise at your belly still being taut from his seed. Those jeans are holding a  _ lot _ back, it’s not just him, and boy are you glad he’s nudging the vibrator every time his erection grinds against you, because otherwise this just wouldn’t be enough after everything he put you through.

 

“ _ Miles, _ ” his name comes out airy, a breath you can barely take without shaking. “Baby, why do we gotta wait so long?”

 

“Let’s go out,” he deflects. “Let’s go out for a date.”

 

“Have you seen what I look like right now? I don’t know about this...”

 

“But  _ babe _ ...” When his dick is  _ so _ close to you like that, that the heat emanating from him is spreading through your whole body, when he’s begging you with that pout on his face, kissing down your throat and peeling back your bra to leave sloppy, wet trails around your nipple and groaning against your chest  _ just like that,  _ it’s a losing battle. 

 

“Aw fuck it, what’s the worst that can happen?”

 

The way he smiles at you tells you all you need to know. The worst that can happen is him giving you no break when out in public. Since you two walked into the restaurant, waited twenty minutes for seating, and got served your drinks, you have been asked a total of five times by various staff and customers if you are all right, or if you think you might need an ambulance for your pregnancy troubles.

 

“Do I  _ look _ really really pregnant, or something?” you whisper, stirring your drink for the tenth time in a five minute timespan.

 

“First trimester, maybe,” Miles responds, a dog’s grin on his face. “You look so good like that.”

 

“Oh shaddup.” The faster the food gets here, the faster you two can eat and then get home. When you’re home, no one can see your flustered face, and at home you can make as many orgasm noises as you like and the only person who will suffer for it is Miles. The biggest struggle in public is to not lose your shit and start fucking right on the table. That’s called bad manners. It would be bad manners to have Miles double penetrate you with both his massive dick and an even more massive studded vibrator, have the crowd watch as he fills you up even more than already, see how far you spread your legs for him, how much you want only his come and nothing else... very… very… very bad manners…

 

“Don’t throw a fit,” he says, voice low and husky, serving as a warning before his hand reaches under your skirt and starts playing around.  _ Don’t throw a fit,  _ he says. Don’t throw a fit? What’s a girl to do? You sink your nails into the skin of his arm and smile sweetly when the waitress appears out of nowhere to take your food orders. She might’ve only been there for about a minute, but it was a minute too long, a minute that stretched into oblivion. You almost make it, one whole normal conversation. One. Then the vibrator’s turned up, and in combination with his finger rubbing the little nub through your panties, you gasp and throw your head down onto the table, hiding between your arms. Then comes the inevitable comment about your well-being and health status, to which Miles replies, “the baby kicks really damn hard. You know how boys are.”

 

“Oh! Congratulations sir! You must be very proud! I have a son myself, he’s about three now. He’s the biggest joy in my life!”  _ Don’t start another conversation, don’t start another conversation, don’t—  _

 

“Really? This one’s our first, and I’d really like to hear about it...” He may be acting innocent, but that smirk on his face is anything but.  _ Son of a bitch.  _ They go on talking for another ten minutes, and during those ten minutes he turns the vibrator off and then on again, is subtle when moving the damn thing around and thrusting it back in, and stretches you open more and more with two expertly placed fingers. You can count how many times you’ve come today, and the grand total so far is three. Looks like he’s going for a fourth however, because they just opened up a new conversation when she came back to refill their beverages.

 

By eight o’clock, it starts to drag on, and you grow more and more grumpy, unable to hold in how much you want him anymore. “Baby, you’re being so cruel to me.”  _ There,  _ catch him in a guilt trip, basically cream yourself in his ear right there in front of everyone. “I don’t want this thing in me anymore, I want  _ you.  _ You, baby, all you. Your thick, hot, pulsing—”

 

“Hold on, love, we’re almost there.” He’s stroking your cheek as gentle as he can, but you see him for what he really is, a hot and bothered mess. Twelve hours, he said? Miles Upshur cannot wait twelve hours. He could barely wait half of one when you took him home and showed him your lack of a gag reflex. 

 

He looks stricken when you swat his hand away. “ _Miles,_ **I want you.** Right _now_.” When he doesn’t concede, you decide to play dirty, and turn your chair away from him so it wouldn’t be easy to conceal his hand between your thighs. This catches his attention, a panicked expression crossing his face. Ha! He has no idea what to do with himself. So obvious. Does he think you’re done? You pull one last shady trick out of your book, and lean over to lick the shell of his ear, singing his _favorite_ tune. “ _Miles,_ oh _God_ Miles, Miles I’m dying here without your come filling me up… _Oh_ **Miles,** please break my mind with your dick, fuck me until I can’t speak my own name _please—_ ”

 

“Waiter!” He’s practically jumping out of his seat and knocking the table over to get her attention. When she’s off fetching the bill, he turns to you with a dangerous look on his face. Barely able to contain his excitement, his fingers ghost over your throat, promising many things to come, before he is finally able to speak. “Just you  _ wait. _ ”

 

Turns out the one who cannot wait is Miles, and you finally break in that new jeep of his.


End file.
